The Queen's Rising (Untitled Trilogy #1)(60)

“Wait . . .” I said, my eyes fastened to the forest, to where my finger still rested. “Lord Allenach invites Valenians to partake in the hunt, does he not?”

Liam nodded, his eyes sparkling with something that looked like vengeance. “He does. Makes quite a fuss over it. One year he invited as many as sixty Valenian nobles, all who paid a hefty price to hunt his forest, all who needed a letter of invitation.”

“Which means they will be hunting in the Mairenna,” Luc said, his fingers trailing through his hair.

“Which means the door into Maevana is about to be open,” Liam added, glancing to Luc. “Lannon keeps the borders closed, save for a few occasions. This is one of them.”

“When would be the next?” Jourdain asked.

Liam sighed, his eyes wandering back to the map. “The spring equinox, maybe. Many Valenians like to go to watch the jousting, and Lannon welcomes them, if only to shock southerners with our bloody sports.”

I did not want to wait for spring. The thought of it made it seem like bricks were hanging from the eaves of my shoulders. But autumn was so close . . . just a few weeks away. . . .

“Yseult?” I murmured, eager to hear her thoughts.

Her face was placid, but her eyes were also glittering with something that looked hungry, vicious. “Allenach’s hunt sets us right where we need to be. At Damhan, on the edge of the Mairenna.”

She was right. We fell silent, wondering and fearing. Could we move so quickly?

“And how would we solicit an invitation?” Hector Laurent asked quietly. “We cannot simply go and knock on Damhan’s door, expected to be let in.”

“No. We will need a forged invitation,” Yseult stated.

“I can forge one for you,” Liam offered. “I wrote plenty of the invitations when I was held under Allenach’s House.”

I was hung on what Liam had said—when he was held under Allenach’s House?—but the conversation kept moving.

“We forge an invitation,” Jourdain said, linking his fingers. “We pay the hefty sum. We send one of our men into Damhan. He partakes in the hunt; he recovers the stone.”

“Father,” I interrupted, as pleasantly as I could. “I need to be the one to recover the stone.”

“Amadine, I am not sending you to Maevana.”

“Jourdain,” Yseult said, also as pleasantly as she could. “The stone is Amadine’s to find and reclaim. None of us will be able to locate the tree as swiftly as she can.”

“But we cannot send Amadine to the hunt,” Luc protested. “These are Valenian men who are invited, not women. She would undoubtedly raise suspicions.”

“One of you men will go to partake in the hunt,” I said. “I shall arrive after you.”

“How?” Jourdain responded, a bit sharply. But I saw the fear haunting his eyes when he looked at me.

“I want you to hear this with an open mind,” I said, my mouth going dry. I was nervous to share my scheme, which I was spinning as the evening deepened. This was not one of Abree’s lighthearted plays; I was not plotting a way out of a dungeon. I was conspiring against a king; multiple lives were about to be involved and put at risk.

With an ache in my stomach, I remembered that old skit of mine, the one where every character perished save for one. But I felt Yseult close at my side, knowing the queen was my ally. And Jean David had set down a small purse of cheques by the map, which would help me illustrate my plans with pawns.

I opened the purse and took out the first pawn, inevitably thinking of Merei and all the evenings we had played each other in cheques and marques. You never protect your side, Bri. It’s your one true weakness, she had once said to me. She only defeated me when she took me by surprise, when she made the oblique move—distracting me with one obvious, powerful pawn and championing me with a stealthier, lesser pawn.

Drawing in a deep breath, I took my obsidian pawn and set it on Damhan.

“One of our men goes to Damhan as a Valenian noble, under the pretense of enjoying the hunt.” I took the next pawn, carved from blue marble. “I arrive to Lyonesse, as a Valenian noblewoman. I go directly to the royal hall, to make a request to King Lannon.” I set my pawn down on Lyonesse, the royal city. “I ask the king to pardon MacQuinn and grant him admittance to the country, that my patron father would like to return to the land of his birth and pay the penance for his past rebellion.”

Luc sat back in his chair, as if his stomach had melted down to the floor. Yseult didn’t move, didn’t even blink as she stared at my pawn. But Jourdain’s hand curled in a fist and I heard him draw in a long, conflicted breath.

“Daughter,” he growled. “We have already discussed this. Asking for a pardon will not work.”

“We discussed what would happen if you asked for the pardon, not me.” Our gazes locked—his was that of a father who knew his daughter was about to defy him. My fingers still held to my pawn, and I looked back to the map. “I make a request before a royal hearing, before the soon-to-be-dethroned king. I speak the name MacQuinn, a name that has haunted Lannon for twenty-five years. I make it known that I am his passion daughter, under MacQuinn’s protection. Lannon will be so fixated on MacQuinn’s return that he will not see the Kavanaghs sneak over his border.” I took a red pawn, which represented Yseult and her father, and moved them over the channel, into Maevana, into Lyonesse.